


let's not talk about the future

by iwasfollowingyou



Category: The West Wing
Genre: (but some yelling on josh's part), (i mean kind of not really), Confessions, Episode Related, Fights, Friends to Lovers, M/M, bc samjosh literally invented that trope, idk what else to tag this, josh is stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 07:59:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18090488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasfollowingyou/pseuds/iwasfollowingyou
Summary: sam makes a decision. josh makes a confession.(based on 04x08, “process stories”)





	let's not talk about the future

“...the former Orange County resident and current White House Senior Advisor Sam Seaborn will seek the seat.”

Josh almost dropped his drink. He had to have heard that wrong. There was no way the information was correct. He looked at CJ, then Carol, then Toby, then CJ again, praying that somehow, he had misheard and that the anchor had said literally anybody else’s name. They all shifted their attention back to the television and watched as a picture of Sam, next to a list of his credentials, appeared.

“Holy shit,” Josh whispered.

“He—” CJ began.

“That has to be wrong,” Toby said, dumbfounded. “There’s no way.”

“How would they mess something like that up?” CJ asked. “They don’t just say things like that. Someone must have told them—”

“Maybe someone from the campaign messed up. Maybe they heard something wrong.”

“He wouldn’t have done that, right?” CJ looked at Josh. “He wouldn’t have agreed to run for Congress. There is no way he’s that stupid.”

Josh shook his head. His mind was racing. He couldn’t stop his thoughts for long enough to process what was happening. The TV went blurry as he stared at it. “I don’t know.”

“You know him better—”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, snappier than he intended. He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

The phone rang, and CJ moved to answer it. She started talking to whoever was on the other end, but Josh was too unfocused to hear all of what she was saying.

All of the sudden, Sam was in the doorway. Josh looked up at him. He opened his mouth, but his brain still wasn’t managing to form any coherent thoughts. Sam was staring at him, and Josh, for some reason, felt like he might start crying.

“Josh, Sam Donaldson from the ABC Nightly News program's on the phone,” CJ said. “He'd like to know if the President is endorsing Sam.”

 _Endorsing Sam._ Josh shook his head. He swallowed, and his mouth tasted bitter. “Toby, is the President endorsing Sam?”

“I don't know. He's asleep, but let's go ask him.”

“Alright.” Sam shut the door. “Look, this is really easy to explain, okay?”

Everyone looked at him, and he immediately launched into what Josh was sure he considered a perfectly reasonable explanation. Josh tuned it out. His head felt fuzzy, like he had just been dunked underwater. The room spun around him. He felt himself speak without registering his own voice. He could hear CJ and Toby talking, but it sounded distant. Josh looked back at the television. There was still a picture of Sam on the screen. Sam. Running for Congress. In _California_.

“You agreed to run?” he asked weakly, looking back up to Sam.

Sam looked at him, apologetic, and Josh wanted to puke. He needed some air. He pushed past Sam, their shoulders colliding, and threw the door open. He heard someone, maybe Sam, maybe not, calling his name, but he kept walking. No one followed him.

Josh wandered the halls, struggling to comprehend all of the information. Why the fuck hadn’t Sam said anything? How long had he been planning this? The Democratic candidate had died what, two weeks ago? When did this happen? Josh ran a hand through his hair, trying desperately to make sense of the whole situation. Someone, somehow, at some point in the past two weeks, had convinced Sam Seaborn to run in a congressional race for a district that Democrats never had a fighting chance in. A district where a dead Democratic candidate had just _won_.

He didn’t know if he was angry. He _felt_ angry, but there were so many emotions swirling around his head that he couldn’t pinpoint exactly how he was reacting to the whole thing. He couldn’t have stayed in that room with Sam. Sam had been too close. Josh’s heart was pounding in his chest. People glanced at him as he walked past them, but no one said anything.

The pain in his stomach and his head were too similar to his panic attacks, but he shouldn’t have been having an attack over this. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ he asked himself.

He found himself sitting at the bottom of a staircase. The marble was cold underneath him, and it was uncomfortable, but it helped ground him into reality. There had been too many televisions everywhere else. They were still discussing the California race. By some miracle, the Wilde campaign had done it. If he wasn’t so blindsided by the fact that apparently _Sam Seaborn_ was about to run in the special election, he would’ve had it in him to be extremely impressed. Will Bailey. Wasn’t that the guy Sam had been talking to? _Will Bailey, you son of a bitch._

Josh almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation, because if he didn’t try to find it funny, he was pretty sure he was going to punch a wall. His thoughts were travelling a million miles an hour. He didn’t know how to feel about the prospect of Sam running for Congress. He had to admit that there was no one he knew who would be better suited for the job. And obviously Sam was going to run for Congress eventually, but Josh had thought that it would come much later down the road, after Bartlet’s second term, when they could focus on running a real campaign. _Congressman Seaborn_. It sounded right. Sam didn’t deserve for his run to be a lost cause before it even began. He deserved a real shot, because in the right circumstances, Josh knew he could win in a landslide. He deserved to win for real. It didn’t make any sense for Sam to run in a special election that shouldn’t have even been happening. But as Josh thought through it, he couldn’t quite separate his logical thoughts from his selfish ones, and he had more than a few selfish reasons for Sam not to go.

“Josh?” a voice called from the top of the stairs. He looked over his shoulder. Donna was standing above him, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Hey,” he responded quietly. “How’d you find me?”

“I have good instincts.” Donna walked down the steps and sat down next to him.

“Josh-finding instincts?” he asked. She shrugged and nodded. “Creepy.”

“You’re pretty predictable.”

“What’s there to predict?”

“You’re upset. You like to storm off and think self-deprecating thoughts when you’re upset.”

He shook his head. “I’m not upset about anything.”

“Sam?”

“No, I’m Josh.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“What about Sam?”

“Don’t play dumb, Josh.”

“I’m not playing anything.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced down at it. Donna sighed softly. “You’re pretty dumb, yeah, but you’re not _this_ dumb. You know what I mean. So, Sam. Is that why you’re freaking out?”

“Sam’s going to run for Congress.” His mouth was dry. “Good for him.”

“Shouldn’t you be out there with everyone else congratulating him?” He shrugged, and she looked concerned. “Josh, come on. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Except that apparently Sam is running for Congress and made this decision at some point in the last few weeks and didn’t think it was an important thing to tell the President, or Toby, or anyone else!”

“Or you?”

“This isn’t about me, Donna. This is about—”

“Josh.” She shook her head. Sometimes he really hated that she could see right through him. “I think you should go talk to him. He probably would like to hear from you right now.”

“I wouldn’t want to if I were him.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m the best person to talk to him.”

“Why not?” she repeated.

“I’m just… I don’t know.”

She wrapped her arm around his back and rested her head on his shoulder. He leaned his head against hers and sighed.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but I do know you’re going to regret it if you don’t go talk to him.”

“Maybe.”

“Josh.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“I’m not sure. I think he was going to talk to the President, but he might be back in CJ’s office by now.”

Josh forced himself up off the stairs, muttering a quiet goodbye to Donna, and dragged himself to CJ’s office. There was still a group of people in there. Sam was standing near Toby, a soft smile on his face as he spoke to someone Josh couldn’t see. Josh stopped in the hallway, allowing himself a few seconds to stare. Sam looked a bit disheveled, but otherwise still good. Of course he looked good. There was a dull pain in Josh’s chest. He took a deep breath and kept moving before his thoughts could get the better of him. As he reached the doorway, everyone turned to look at him. He kept his eyes on Sam.

“Can we talk?” he asked. His voice sounded rough to his own ears, and he winced. Sam nodded. Taking the hint, CJ shooed everyone else out of the office, turning off the television as she went, and they were left alone. Someone had draped cloths over the lamps, resulting in a soft reddish-purple glow throughout the entire room. It cast shadows across Sam’s face, and Josh was grateful, because he didn’t know if he would have been able to face him in the brightness.

Sam sat down on the couch. Josh leaned against CJ’s desk, arms crossed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He couldn’t force himself to make eye contact.

“I didn’t…” Sam’s voice was quiet. “Josh, never in a million years would I have thought this was actually going to happen. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t mention it to anyone because I figured it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Agreeing to run for Congress isn’t a big deal?” Against his better judgment, he looked up. Sam had an expression on his face that Josh had never seen. It was almost apologetic, but there was a hardness behind his eyes that hurt.

“I made a spur of the moment promise to a widow. She wanted to know that there would be someone — that someone would be willing to step up and run in the special election, just in case. I told Will to give her my name. No one expected us to actually _win_ this thing.” Sam tried a smile, but it quickly faded once he saw Josh’s expression. “Why are you so pissed?”

“You’re — you’re running for office!” He shook his head. “We just won reelection. You’re senior staff. We need you. I—” _Need you._ He stopped before completing the statement. “There’s gonna be work to do, speeches to write, the inauguration—”

“It’s going to be ninety days. That’s it. Toby will find someone to take my place while I’m gone. We’ll run, I’ll lose in a blowout, I’ll be back to work.”

“You thought you’d lose this one!”

“Josh, this was a fluke. I’ll be right back in Washington as soon as it’s over, and everything will be back to normal. You guys can live without me for a couple of months.”

 _I can’t._ He came so close to actually saying it but restrained himself. This wasn’t about him or his feelings on the matter. This was about Sam and the good of the staff.

“The people on the news seem to think it’s a good idea. They like you. Will Bailey seems to think it’s a good idea.” He couldn’t help that his lip curled a little bit. He had never even met the guy, but he already hated him for trying to take Sam away.

Sam paused for a second. Josh felt as if he was being examined, and he ducked his head. Sam shifted on the couch, then cleared his throat. “What do _you_ think?”

“What does it matter what I think?”

“I trust your opinion. I trust you to be honest with me. I don’t want to hear what you heard other people say. I don’t want you to base your answers off of what you think Bartlet or Leo or CJ or Toby or anyone else would say. I want to hear what you have to say about it. You’re — you got Bartlet elected, twice now—”

“ _We_ got Bartlet elected,” Josh corrected him. “And the ‘we’ includes you, too. I didn’t do anything special.”

“You’re good at what you do. And you’re my best friend. I trust you.” Josh looked up to meet Sam’s eyes. Sam’s expression was deadly serious.

 _Friend._ That was it. Just friends.

“There’s no other democrat on the ballot. The nomination is mine. But if you really think I shouldn’t do it, I’ll find some way to back out. I’ll tell Mrs. Wilde and Will that I can’t.”

“Why didn’t you back out before?”

“I didn’t want to go back on my word to a widow. It feels wrong. It’s definitely wrong.”

But Sam would go back on his word for Josh.

Sam’s gaze had softened. The dim light of the room was reflected in his eyes, and he looked so unfairly pretty. Josh’s anger was melting away. He couldn’t help the fact that he couldn’t stay angry at Sam, no matter what he did. It was frustrating most of the time, the fact that Sam could simply smile at him or say his name, and Josh would forget the reason he was upset in the first place.

Josh didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t want to be the one responsible for the party losing Orange County _again_ , and he definitely didn’t want to be the reason some poor widow was let down. But the odds were not in Sam’s favor. A Democrat had never won, and Sam running and losing would look bad for when he decided to run a real campaign later on. But it was Sam fucking Seaborn. If there was anyone in the world that could do it, it was Sam. Josh took a deep breath, averting his gaze so he wouldn’t be distracted by Sam’s pleading, pretty eyes. _Fuck._

“I think… I think if you did go for it, you wouldn’t really have a shot,” he began. His voice was wavering. “But you’re young, and you have a ridiculous amount of experience, and you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever known. If not the smartest.” Sam was smiling slightly at the praise, and Josh thought that maybe he might be blushing, disguised by the soft red light of the room. “It’s a long shot, a pipe dream. We both know that. No one expects you to win. But, you know, if the expectations are already that low, it’s gonna be easy to surpass them. You could be the one to give new life to the party there. If anyone can force a bunch of grumpy rich white people to think for one second about other human beings, it’s you. You won’t win, but you could start making changes. You could do it.”

“But?” Sam prompted, and Josh silently cursed. Sam knew him too well.

“But I would really prefer you don’t run.” _Please don’t ask why, please don’t ask why._

“Why not?”

He swallowed hard. “Because I don’t want you to leave me,” he whispered, barely louder than the sounds of their breathing in the otherwise silent room. Sam stood up and took a few steps towards him. Josh gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white.

“I didn’t hear you.” Sam’s voice was soft. Josh couldn’t do this.

“I just — I don’t want you to, okay?”

“C’mon, Josh, there has to be a reason.”

“Because.”

“‘Because’ isn’t a reason.” He stepped closer. Josh’s breath hitched. His palms were sweating. “Josh, it’s just us. I’m not going to get angry at you over this. I know you have reasons behind it. You never do anything just because. Especially when it comes to this. You know what you’re doing. Why shouldn’t I go for it? Besides losing. You just gave me a list of reasons why I should. So why _shouldn’t_ I?”

“I don’t know, Sam, okay? Can you just leave it alone?” His voice was raising; he couldn’t help it.

“No, I can’t.”

“Sam.”

“Josh.”

“ _Sam_ ,” he pleaded.

“Josh.”

“I don’t — I don’t want you to run because I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not _leaving_. I’ll be gone for a couple months, and win or lose, I’d be back in Washington by February.” The fact that he was so calm about it was making Josh even more upset. “Ninety days. That’s it. That’s basically nothing. You guys can handle it.”

“I can’t.”

“You’ll be fine. You guys don’t need me.”

“No, Sam. _I_ can’t.” Why wasn’t he getting it? There was a headache pushing in behind Josh’s eyes; he felt like someone was hammering at his skull. He wanted to scream, to shove Sam back and tell him to leave it alone, but Sam was too gentle, too kind, too patient. Josh desperately wanted him to understand, but he didn’t want to admit exactly why he needed Sam to stay. “I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you to leave me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Goddamnit, Sam!” He smacked his hand against the desk, then lifted his head to make eye contact. He immediately regretted it. Sam looked hurt, his stupidly pretty eyes confused and stupid pretty lips slightly parted as if he was halfway through forming a thought, but it hadn’t quite reached his mouth yet.

“Josh?” he finally managed, soft and quiet and worried, because he was concerned, because he cared so damn much that Josh wished he could hate him.

The words came tumbling out of Josh’s mouth before he could stop them. “I don’t want you to leave because I’m fucking in love with you, you _asshole_!”

The world stopped. Josh was breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest, so loudly it seemed like Sam should have been able to hear it. He wasn’t sure that Sam _couldn’t_ hear it. He quickly dropped his eyes back to the floor and stood up, fists clenched at his sides. Sam wasn’t moving. Sam wasn’t speaking. He didn’t think Sam was breathing. The air was heavy around them. Josh had never been so conscious of the space between their bodies. It suddenly felt like they were standing on opposite sides of a canyon, a ten-thousand-foot drop between them, and he had already thrown himself off the edge, hurtling towards the ground below.

“Josh—” Sam’s voice broke the silence. It sent a shiver down Josh’s spine.

“Stop. Just — just don’t. Please.” He needed to get out. The room felt like it was shrinking, the walls closing in.

“Josh.”

“Sam, _please_.” Tears were starting to form in the corners of his eyes. He took a few deep breaths and tried to keep them from falling. “Just forget this ever happened, okay? Go to California. Run for Congress. Forget this. Forget everything. Forget me. Forget this happened. Please. Just forget it.” He tried to leave, but Sam stood between him and the door, and a gentle hand closed around his arm as he tried to walk past. It was light, but it felt like Josh had been yanked back into place by a metal chain.

“Josh, look at me.” He was almost begging.

Josh forced his eyes up. Sam appeared remarkably calm. Josh gulped, forcing down the lump in his throat. He had never meant or wanted to admit what he just had. It was his stupid, dirty secret, one he had kept for years and years without letting it slip to anyone. He had watched silently through all of Sam’s girlfriends and hookups and failed relationships, had always offered a shoulder to cry on whenever things went south, but never, never, _never_ would have admitted his feelings. It had been clear Sam would never feel the same way. It was just a simple fact in Josh’s life, as certain as the fact that the sun would set each night and rise the next morning: he was in love with Sam Seaborn, and Sam would never see him as anything more than just a friend. He had survived this long. But of course he couldn’t keep it together for five more minutes.

“Josh,” Sam whispered again, and suddenly Josh was back down on earth, and Sam was right in front of him, his hand still on Josh’s arm, but CJ’s office was still too hot, and Josh needed to breathe, but he couldn’t manage to suck any oxygen into his lungs. His head was fuzzy again, a dull roar in his ears. Another quiet _“Josh”_ broke through the haze. He shook his head and stared at Sam, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Sam pulled him into his arms, murmuring his name over and over again, and Josh slumped against him, head dropping onto his shoulder. Sam gently guided them onto the couch, never letting go of him, and Josh was acutely aware of every inch of his body that was in contact with Sam’s and thought that he would’ve been perfectly okay with dying right then and there. Sam maneuvered them so that he was leaning back against the arm of the sofa, legs outstretched, and Josh was laying on top of him, head against his collarbone. Sam’s hand on his back weighed a thousand pounds. It felt like he should be suffocating, but he wasn’t, couldn’t, as long as Sam was with him, and he had never been so comfortable and uncomfortable at the same exact time. Sam was still whispering, about everything and nothing, about the weather and sports and getting in trouble for not noticing Margaret’s haircut, and Josh slowly allowed himself to relax. He breathed in and out, inhaling the faint scent of Sam’s cologne and coffee and the pumpkin-scented candle that Ginger burned in the communications bullpen.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. Sam shushed him.

“Can you look at me, please?” Sam asked gently.

Josh lifted his head. Sam’s expression was soft, but with a hint of pity, and it _hurt_. 

“You don’t want me to leave because you…”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

“I need to hear it. I need to. Tell me why you don’t want me to leave.”

He had no clue where this was going, and was terrified, but he trusted Sam with his entire life, so he did what he asked. “Because I’m in love with you.”

Sam smiled. “You mean it.”

“Yeah, I mean it. What are you—”

Soft lips against his. Josh froze, and Sam pulled back. “Okay?”

 _Fuck it._ Josh nodded, and Sam kissed him again, and this time Josh responded, desperate but trying to restrain himself, letting the pressure stay light. Sam’s hand was still a firm presence on his back, but he brought the other up to cup Josh’s jaw. It was everything he had always imagined it would be and more. Sam’s lips were gentle, almost teasing, and Josh had to hold back a quiet whine. Sam’s thumb brushed across his cheek. This was okay. He was okay. He had never been more okay. When Sam pulled away again, he was still smiling. Josh shook his head.

“What — what was that for?”

“I love you, too, you idiot,” Sam whispered. Josh’s heart leapt into his throat. “I’ve loved you since...” he trailed off. “For a long time.”

“You—” Josh stared at him. “You — you love me?”

Sam smiled and nodded. “Yeah, dumbass.”

“You love me,” Josh repeated, dumbfounded.

“I’ve wanted to tell you forever. I just didn’t want to make this weird.”

“This _is_ weird,” he muttered. “You’re — you just kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“I — yeah, of course I did.”

“You wanna stop talking so I can do it again?” He nodded, and Sam made good on his word, leaning in and pressing their lips together once more. He lifted his hand a bit higher and twisted his fingers in Josh’s hair. Josh, not knowing what to do with his hands, unsurely let one rest on Sam’s chest. He could feel Sam’s heartbeat, quick but steady beneath his palm. Sam tugged lightly at Josh’s bottom lip with his teeth before breaking contact, and Josh groaned softly.

Sam murmured his name, and it sent a shiver through Josh’s entire body.

“I don’t want you to go to California,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you.”

“You’re not losing me, Josh. You never could.”

“I don’t want you to,” he repeated, before adding, “but I know you should.”

“I think I’m going to run. I owe it to Will and Mrs. Wilde.” He ran his fingers through Josh’s hair. Josh let out a soft, pleased sound, and Sam smiled. 

Josh kissed the corner of his mouth. “I should have told you a long time ago, right?”

“Probably.”

“Sorry.”

Sam shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s just as much my fault.”

“You better call me when you’re in California.”

Sam laughed quietly, and the sound sent a rush of warmth through Josh’s chest. “Every day.”

“You’re gonna do great things, Sam,” Josh murmured, and he didn’t just mean in California.

“Can you promise me two things, though?”

“Name them.”

“One, you’re my campaign manager when I run for real.”

He nodded. “Done. We’re gonna get you a seat if it’s the last thing I ever do. What’s number two?”

“Whether I win or lose this, you’ll be waiting for me when I get back?”

It was even easier to agree to that. “Swear it.”

Sam smiled, and then they were kissing again, and Josh was completely certain that he was never going to have a better night than this one. Winning a presidential election didn’t even come close to the elation he was felt when Sam’s lips touched his. He loved Sam. Sam loved _him_. He could move mountains. He could run a marathon and come out the other side smiling. He was kissing Sam. Sam was kissing him. California was going to be nothing. They were going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> i started this one AGES ago but just got around to posting it now (so ik it's not my best but i still like it). as always leave kudos and comments if you liked it because those make my day and follow me on twitter @samuelseaborn and @wwoutofcontext and on tumblr @vaguelyprophetic x


End file.
